untitled: john lennon/annette grant
John sighed, running a hand down his face. He leaned back in the chair behind his desk. “What has she done now?” He asked, prepared to hear the worst about their daughter. She was on the cusp of becoming a teenager, and she’d already had a head start on causing trouble and the reason he cited for going gray. Carroll’s rebellious nature was a trait that John chalked up to her Lennon genes.
“She hasn’t done anything.” Annette flatly replied.
“Well, then - why are you calling?” He abruptly asked.
“We need to talk -”
“About?”
“If you’d let me speak I could tell you.” She sharply replied. Her irritated tone unmistakable and surprising to John. It was rare for Annette to be short with him. Even after everything they’d went through from a painful breakup initiated by his cheating to a drawn out custody dispute, Annette had remained relatively civil toward John. Knowing that he didn’t deserve her courtesy made it hard for him to accept. She continued, “I haven’t been feeling well. Not for awhile.” She vaguely replied. “I’m doing what I need to going to the appointments, eating right, and trying to live as healthy a life as possible. It wasn’t enough. It’s terminal. Ovarian cancer.”
John thought his heart sank into his stomach and jumped up into his throat. A dry lump forming that he noisily tried to clear. The thoughts of losing Annette shocked him and he refused to believe it. This didn’t have to be real. “We’ll see to it that you meet with the top specialists and - and whatever else it is you need.” He offered, involuntarily clutching the phone tighter.
“John -”
“Annette.” He desperately replied. He didn’t want to imagine her no longer being there. It terrified him.
“I’ve tried. Trust me. It’s - I’m at the end.” She vaguely replied.
“And, Carroll?” He squeezed his eyes shut, unwilling to allow himself to cry. John wouldn’t allow this to become real and if he acknowledged it it would.
“She knows. I wouldn’t keep something like this from her. I couldn’t if I tried. She’s always been perceptive, nothing gets by her.”
“She’s only ten.” He argued, choking up and trying to hide it behind indignation.
“Twelve.” She corrected him. “I’d like for Michael to adopt her. You’ll need to sign over your rights.”
“What?” He asked, head reeling from all of this news at once.
“He’s raised her since she was in diapers, John. He’s the one who has been there and -”
“No.” He cut her off. “I’m not signing anything over, Annette.”
“John, please, take her best interest to heart.” She tried to appeal to his common sense. “She’d rather stay where she is -”
“Well, that’s just fucking tough, isn’t it? We don’t always get what we want.” He snapped.
“So, you’d rather have your daughter miserable with you, than happy with Michael who raised her as his own?” She shot back, patience wearing thin.
John pulled the phone away from his ear, starring at it for several long moments before he placed it down onto the cradle. Abruptly ending the call.